


A shot in the night

by Ceciliedr



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Batbrothers (DCU), Batbrothers (DCU) Bonding, Blood and Violence, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Fluff, Happy Ending, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is a good brother, No Slash, POV Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, and he gets more than one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28135104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceciliedr/pseuds/Ceciliedr
Summary: Rain like needles against his face. Water running down it. Dick tries to sit up, but she won’t let him. His limbs are so heavy. There are words, a voice. He doesn’t understand.The sky is dark. Not a star in sight.Colors swim in and out of his vision. Orange and black melting together. Everything cast in shadows. Dick tries to pull himself together, but it’s so hard to focus. Dark skin. Two spots of white seeming to bore into him.A gunshot shatters the moment.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 22
Kudos: 379





	A shot in the night

**Author's Note:**

> Everybody, please mind the tags, I really don't want to trigger someone❤️

The rain’s cold against his skin. She is there, saying something. Dick can see her lips moving, but can’t catch the words.  
It’s hard to concentrate.

Her hand is warm against his chest. The world tilts around. Gravel biting into his back. Little pinpricks of pain through the suit.

It’s his fault. He should have stopped- should- should have been better. Should-

Warmth settles over his hips. Another spot of it presses down on his chest. A crushing weight. Rain like needles against his face. Water running down it. Dick tries to sit up, but she won’t let him. His limbs are so heavy. There are words, a voice. He doesn’t understand.

The sky is dark. Not a star in sight.

Colors swim in and out of his vision. Orange and black melting together. Everything cast in shadows. Dick tries to pull himself together, but it’s so hard to focus. Dark skin. Two spots of white seeming to bore into him.

The wind is cold against his skin. Suit getting dragged down his waist-

“No.”

Dick swallows and forces words past his dry throat. “No I don’t want- don’t want.”

He can’t move.

“ _Stop_.”

Nausea builds in his throat until he’s choking on it. Nothing responses. His limbs won’t cooperate, won’t move, no matter how much he screams at them to do it. Dick can’t stop shaking.

“Ssh this will be-”

A gunshot shatters the moment. 

Dick flinches as blood splatters across his face. Weight collapsing on top of him, crushing down on his lungs. Pinning him there. Dick can’t breathe. His eyes burn. Liquids mixing and cooling on his face. He chokes on a sob.

He can’t.

“Hey hey Dickiebird, calm down, I have you. You’re safe now.”

The voice is deeper than he remembers it. It can’t be, he is- his little brother is- The weight is pushed aside. There are gloved hands on his face, wiping away the blood.

“I got you big bird.”

Dick’s chest constricts. Each heartbeat a new wave of agony. He’s still shaking. Hair plastered to his forehead. A fresh stream of tears running down his face.

The world tips around again, someone presses against his side. Warmth and still so familiar. Unlike the scent of gunpowder and smoke filling up his nose. Dick wants to believe so badly it’s choking him, to believe the impossible is true.

It’s so hard to focus.

His feet slips. Leaning heavily on the body beside him as aching muscles refuse to take his weight. Pain exploding behind his eyes, every bit of light a spear through his head.

Dick can’t repress a whimper.

The world’s spinning. Nausea like a hand squeezing his throat, threatening to come spilling past chipped lips.

“Just let go Dick. I have you.”

He trusts that voice. Dick lets go.

* * *

Danger. He needs to act, needs to move. Dick fights the darkness that threatens to drag him back into obliviousness. Dreams already halfway forgotten. Lingering bits of sensations.

Tense muscles and heavy eyelids that refuse to open.

Soft words reach his ears. Familiar. So is the voice singing them. A lullaby in his mother-tongue. He recalls singing it to scared or sick little brothers, just like his parents did for him. A smaller body crawling into his bed after a nightmare.

There is a hand in his hair. Nails scraping over his scalp every so often. Fingers intertwining with his own, calluses against his palm. Soft bedding beneath him. The same laundry detergent Alfred has always sworn by.

His muscles soften, sinking deeper into the madras. Body still heavy with exhaustion. The darkness feels more like a welcome embrace than a threat.

Dick feels safe. For the first time in a long time, he’s safe.

* * *

Dick feels well-rested for the first time in forever when he opens his eyes to an unfamiliar bedroom. White walls and wooden furniture.

The blackout blinds are drawn, but the digital clock proclaims it to be a little after seven. Dick doubts he’s only been out for a few hours, meaning it has to be Friday. He’s been unconscious for nearly a day.

There are fresh clothes and a towel laying on the dresser. Dark sweatpants and a soft looking blue sweater. Dick takes the hint. Relieved to still be wearing the suit’s pants. Someone removed the rest of his gear, but left the utility belt and his enisma sticks on the bedside table.

His mask is gone.

That should concern him.

It doesn’t. 

They also left a glass of water and painkillers still in the packaging. Dick downs both. Ignoring the paranoia advising against consuming anything before identifying the provider of it. They already had him at their mercy.

As evident by the empty bag of fluids hanging on the bedframe. He finds a scabbed over needle mark on the inside of his forearm.

Something tugs on the back of his mind. It feels important, but Dick has too much of a headache to pay it much attention at the moment. For some reason, he feels safe and he’s always trusted his instincts.

The tiles are pleasantly cold beneath his bare feet. The extractor fan humming in the background. Dick lets the warm water slide down his body, taking some of the aches of sore muscles with it. Ignoring the bruises coloring his skin. Every other trace of last night going down the drain.

The painkillers start to do their job while he’s under the spray.

Showering feels good, feels cleansing. The fluffy red towel like an embrace. The soft clothes a layer between him and the world. The set is worn and a little too big on his frame. It’s comfortable.

Dick doesn’t look in the mirror, but his own hands are harder to avoid catching a glimpse of. There is no blood on them, but maybe there should be. Dick clenches his fists, it’s his fault after-

A soft knock on the door. “You doing okay in there?”

That voice again. A vice around his ribs, squeezing, he didn’t dare- Dick rips open the door, staring at the young man on the other side of it. White strike in his hair, a green tint to blue eyes. Taller and more muscular, but it’s undeniably his little brother.

His little wing.

Dick flings himself into Jason’s arms, who catches him with a surprised huff of air. He’s solid as Dick clings to him. Solid, warm, and real. So are the arms wrapping around his back.

“You’re alive.” Dick’s voice wobbles. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”

The arms tighten around him. Pressing Dick into a firm chest and strong heartbeat. Hints of cigarette smoke still linger on his little brother. Jason’s taller than him now.

“I take it you missed me Dickiebird.” He’s going for flippantly joking, but Dick can hear the emotions in Jason’s voice.

“Of fucking course I missed you little wing, every single day.” Dick tastes salt, burring his face in his brother’s neck. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Jason snorts. “Like spending every other weekend in ‘heaven wasn’t enough.”

“But-”

“Dickface if you’re about to blame yourself for my death, I’m going to kick your acrobatic ass into next week.” Jason runs a hand in circles between his shoulder blades. “You weren’t even on the fucking planet, nothing you could have done.”

Dick just clings tighter. Ever since he saw his brother, some part of him had hoped it was all a lie. That Jason’s death was just an elaborate hoax. Another one of Bruce’s insane plans. He would have never forgiven his father for it, but at least his little brother didn’t have to suffer.

“How- How long. When?” Dick can’t get the questions straight in his head.

“How about you park your backside at the kitchen table and I will fill you in over breakfast.”

Dick nods, but it takes him another ten minutes to pry himself of Jason. Who surprisingly just waits for him to be done, hugging him back in the meantime.

His brother is alive.

Jason’s made a small mountain of food. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, and freshly baked buns. Dick can feel a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Jason always did show his care with food.

He remembers a gangly 12-year-old following Alfred around in the kitchen. Taking it all in with big eyes. Black curls falling into his face. Kicking up a fuss when Dick tried and failed to braid them.

Remembers the same kid, a little older, with flour on his cheek and a wide smile nearly too big for his face. A chipped baby-tooth. So proud the first time he cocked something on his own. The only one beside Alfred allowed near the stove unsupervised.

This kitchen is much smaller than the one in the manor, but has the same sense of home hanging over it. Dick knows this has to be a safe house, but right now it doesn’t feel like one. Might be the cookbooks lined up along the back of a counter, used cookware cluttering up the sink, or just because his brother is here with him.

Jason keeps up a steady stream of chatter, nudging food closer to Dick’s plate whenever it’s even close to being empty. The smell of Earl Grey filling the air from their steaming mugs.

His brother is withholding some parts of his story. Keeping it light on the details. Dick doesn’t know for who’s sake that is. But he’s not going to press as Jason casually mentions digging himself out of his grave, being braindead for a while, and being tossed in a Lazarus pit. Making light of all of it. Including his murder tour around the world.

Dick has to bite his tongue or stuff his mouth with food several times to keep from interrupting. He tries to keep his face impartial, but knows full well Jason can read the pain, sorrow, and horror on his features.

Keeps quiet when Jason mentions killing his scum of a teacher. His little brother is watching him closely, clearly waiting on a lecture. To have Bruce’s rules stuffed in his face.

But how could he? It’s not like he has the moral high ground here. Dick might as well have pulled the trigger last night. And she- she was going to- and he didn’t stop her!

A hand grabs his shoulder. “You still with me?”

“Yeah.” Dick swallows and washes away the bitter taste with orange juice.

“Good, because I spilled my sob story, your turn to share with the class.”

“There is nothing to-”

“Shut it Dickface. I’m not pressuring you to talk if you’re not fucking ready for it. But unless my memory is more screwed up than I realized it tends to help you.” Jason comes around the table and leans against it. Pressing the outside of their legs together as he crosses his arms. “I wasn’t there by accident you know. You’ve been isolating yourself. I get being independent better than most, but when someone targets you, you call for backup.”

“I couldn’t.” Dick rubs his face.

Jason raises an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“He knew who I was. I couldn’t risk hurting anybody else, losing anybody else.” Dick buries his head in his hands. Tears escaping his eyes as he sees Haly’s burn. The smoldering remains of his apartment building.

Hands grips his shoulders. Dick lets them tug him up and into Jason’s arms. Clinging to the other, fingers clutching the fabric of Jason’s red hoodie. The vice around Dick’s chest loosening just slightly as he tucks his face back into his brother’s neck. Presses close enough that he can feel the steady beat of the other’s pulse against his skin.

Jason’s alive.

“I get it Dick. But you would put yourself in danger for a friend or family member without a second thought. Don’t you think they feel the same?”

Dick’s tears are soaking the neckline of the hoodie.

“I can’t lose anybody else.”

One of Jason’s hands buries itself in his hair, the other rubbing up and down his spine. The chest beneath him is expanding and deflating evenly and Dick tries his best to mimic it. To force air down lungs that seems to burn from the lack of it.

Jason’s voice is soft, but with an undertone of steal. “When and how someone risks their life is their choice. How would you feel if Wally or Tim turned up dead and you could have saved them, but they were too stubborn to ask for help?”

Dick can’t help the whimper that escapes him. He feels cold. A pit in his chest that swallows everything up, leaving only a hollow numbness behind. Shivers wreaking through his body.

“I can’t-”

“Well I can’t lose you either birdbrain and I’m not the only one. Fucks sake.” Jason’s grip goes impossibly tighter, like he’s afraid Dick will slip right out of his arms. Dick shares the feeling, don’t think he will dare take his eyes off Jason for a good while. If this turns out to be just a dream or some sort of mind trick, he will never be able to piece the shattered remains of his heart back together.

“He was going after everybody. Everyone I ever knew. I couldn’t bump into someone on the street without putting them at risk.” Dick forces the words out through clenched teeth. Even now they tear at his heart. All those people, so many lives cut short.

“Bloody hell.”

“I couldn’t give him more targets.” Dick stops holding back, lets the sobs have free rain. Jason holds him close as they wreak through Dick’s body. Leaving him gasping into the other’s neck. Jason doesn’t say a word about it, just keeps stroking his back. Even as Dick gets tears and snot all over the other’s neck and collar.

He loses track of time. Just keeps crying until his eyes are red and swelled up and he has no more tears left. Heart a little bit lighter. Jason’s hands are still there, firm yet gentle against his back, his scalp. A warm and reassuring presence against his front.

“I can’t even fucking imagine how terrible that would be, would feel.”

“I let him die.” Dick keeps his face buried. Hides away from the world, from his own guilt.

“Good riddance, the world is better off without him.” Jason lets out a huff of air and Dick resits the urge to curl in on himself. “Besides, unless you actively killed him, it’s not on you.”

“I stepped aside, let it happen.”

“There is a big difference between not saving someone and killing them.”

“In this case, it was basically the same,” Dick remembers the hopelessness. How Blockbuster’s words were like a knife to his heart, each sentence twisting it around in the wound. Being trapped with no way out.

“Not that I agree with that, but so what?” Jason’s tone takes on a challenging note. “Offing Blockbuster saved who knows how many lives. You could have hanged him with his own intestines and still come out of this with the moral high ground. Anyone who says differently can take it up with me.”

Dick can’t help a snort, there is little humor to the sound. “You can’t fight the whole world.”

“Could. Would. But won’t have to.” Jason rests his forehead against the top of Dick’s hair. Breath warm as it fanes out over his scalp. “Most people would have cracked under far less pressure and they know it too.”

“I’m not most people.”

“But you’re still human.” Jason pokes him in the side, before going back to rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. “Even if gravity doesn’t apply to you.”

Dick’s face is damp, he absently rubs it off on Jason’s shoulder. The red fabric is so soft against his skin. His next words are barely above a whisper.

“Maybe I should turn myself in.”

“What good would that do?” Jason sounds distinctly unimpressed. His hold tightens to the edge of pain. Dick doesn’t mind, finds it grounding.

“It would be the right thing to do, the just thing.”

“And reveal the family secret for all the world to see?”

Dick shakes his head. “I would go in as Dick Grayson.”

“Yeah no.” Jason’s tone is flat, with no room for bargains, Dick tries anyway.

“But-”

“It’s completely unnecessary and a waste of everybody’s time.”

“You don’t know that.”

The silence hangs between them until Dick turns his head and catches a glimpse of Jason’s face. His brother raises an unimpressed eyebrow his way. Eyes a swirling mixture of blue and green. Black spots visible beneath them.

“There is not an honest judge out there, that would find you guilty under the circumstances. Bruce always preaches about leaving justice up to the courts. We both know you would never be convicted for this under the law.”

Dick avoids his brother’s gaze, instead looking over Jason’s shoulder at their abandoned breakfast. A few tea leafs laying on the bottom of his grey mug. Three buns still in the breadbasket. Only a grease-stained paper towel left on the plate that held the bacon.

“Dick you were pressured beyond your limits. Nobody is perfect. If stepping aside was a mistake, you have to forgive yourself for it.”

“Easier said than done.” Dick’s voice is hoarse and barely audible.

“We will work on it.”

“You say that like you’re planning to stick around.” Turns out he has a few tears left. Fingers clutching Jason’s hoodie like it’s the last thing keeping him from drowning. Black water lapping at his chin. 

“Hell yeah, I am. Superman himself couldn’t pry me away from you. I’m not leaving until you’re telling me to go.“

Dick lets out a wet chuckle. It’s feels grating on his throat, yet relieving.

“You’re laughing now, but I have kryptonite somewhere around here. I could take the blue boy-scout.” He can hear the grin in Jason’s voice. “How about we save the other emotional conversations for later? And just kills a few hours with some Disney?”

Dick feels the hint of a smile on his lips. “You will let me pick the movie?”

“If I have to,” Jason says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Have you seen Moana yet?”

“Nope.” Jason pops the p.

“It’s good.”

“Then it’s decided.” The mischievous tilt to Jason’s voice is the only warning Dick gets, before his knees disappear beneath him. Jason hoisting him into his arms bridal style with a self-satisfied grin.

“Little wing!” His chest feels lighter.

“Payback’s a bitch birdbrain, I’m finally big enough to have my revenge.”

“I didn’t pick you up that much.”

“You never put me down.” Jason moves out of the kitchen, leaving the mess to be dealt with later. He looks down at Dick with a truly wicked grin. “My revenge will be the stuff of legends.”

Dick can’t help it. He laughs. 

**Author's Note:**

> I did plan to have them talking more about Tarantula. About what happened. But Dick wasn’t ready for it, so it’s something they will deal with later. Jason is giving his brother some space to recover first.


End file.
